


The Return Of Lord X

by widgenstain



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Bodice-Ripper, M/M, Master/Servant, Mind Control, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Top Charles, me trying to english
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/pseuds/widgenstain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Xavier has returned to Westchester Manor and his trustworthy stable hand welcomes him with open <strike>legs</strike> arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return Of Lord X

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, unfiltered, self-indulgent smut that took me far too long to write. Yes, the title is "inspired" by romance novels, as is the whole stable hand idea.

Logan knows before the group of people exits that the talks didn’t go well. The sour cloud of anger reaches him sooner than Lord Stryker and his lackey can storm out the door. Stryker’s man rips the reins from Logan’s hands, the beautiful but nervous stallion Logan cared for the past few hours whinnies and almost throws its rider when he climbs into the saddle. Only Logan’s quick reaction steadies the horse and keeps it calm, as he touches its snout and mutters quiet words. 

Lord Xavier has appeared on the top of the outer staircase, his face is polite and serene as always but Logan can sense the tension in his muscles and can smell the ire on him. Then there’s also His Lordship’s gift, which he has under control so perfectly until he doesn’t, and which now bleeds his frustration into the courtyard. 

They all, his Lord and the guests, returned from the City early this morning, immediately closed themselves in the study to discuss their proceedings, and as it appears nothing even close to a consensus was reached. Stryker leaving in a huff like this is worrisome for all their futures no doubt, but seeing Lord Xavier up on the stairs in his green frock, allowing his fists and jaw to clench tightly when the two men exchange the minimum of courtesies propriety expects of them, it means something very agreeable for Logan’s immediate future. 

He waits until the group is beyond the curve of the road leading up to Westchester Manor and then turns to look at His Lordship again, whose usually so warm blue eyes are sharp as steel as he gazes behind his competitors. When he notices Logan looking up he seems irritated and puzzled for a second but then Logan reaches for the button of his collar – rolls it between his thumb and pointer before he pops it open – and something else mixes in the beautiful eyes. 

Logan turns and walks to his stables without looking over his shoulder once. 

The stable boys are out having lunch at the riverbank, lazing in the sun and making life harder for the laundrettes, so he’s alone in the warm but airy haymow. Not for long though, the floorboards creek and he feels another man’s gaze on him as he opens his breeches and pulls his shirt out. 

Lord Xavier has been away for six whole weeks. Six weeks Logan had to feed off memories and fantasies. For six weeks no one has touched him but himself, not by orders or by lack of offers but by choice. Now Lord Xavier is back, in the flesh, and he’s in a mood that might allow Logan to finally find an addition to the long-cherished and often used memories of that day at the lake with the torn shirt and the riding crop. He doesn’t need to signal him, not physically nor mentally, all Logan needs to do is to widen his stance and look up, and Lord Xavier is on him. 

Lord Xavier who also is _his_ Charles. 

Logan isn’t a big kisser but when Charles pulls him down by the neck and smashes their mouths together without a second of hesitation, he is more than willing to engage. It’s rough and uncoordinated; they stumble over the dusty floor in a strange graceless dance, until Charles presses him into the cool, whitewashed wall in the back. Logan slides down a little, opens his legs and with their heads closer together the kisses he receives turn deeper but not any less driven. 

Charles' tongue is quick, aggressive and he knows how to use it for the two of them. All Logan has to do open his mouth and give himself over to the touch. That wasn’t something that came to him naturally – or maybe it was and he forgot – yet, like this, it’s easy.

There’s so much propriety in the touch – something he would usually resent – but this is the fervour, these are the feelings; the ones that are somewhere between lust and hate, the ones that run so close to his surface. And the ones between love and devotion too, the ones so few can touch. Logan moans as Charles’ taste floods him and all he wants to do is take in more of the potent, angry tang. The hands on his naked torso are impatient, they grab at him, push him in directions they seem not be sure about themselves, the blunt nails scratch at him, until the strong little fingers slide back, down into his breeches and grab him by the buttocks. 

There is nothing gentle about the touch, the gropes are strong and dig into his hard-earned muscles, kneading them as if to wrench them from his bones; his cleft is moved and stretched in ways that force him to drown a groan in the violent mouth on his. He tightens his embrace around Charles’ body, there is a quick struggle, Charles writhes and grunts but then his hips move to Logan’s groin and the touch sends a shiver through both of them. Charles’ arousal is heavy in the air. Not just in the pheromones he drips from every pore, or in the small trail of sweat down his back and in the saliva mixing with Logan’s but in the presence of his gift too, that engulfs Logan just as much as their embrace.

“Thank your mother for the day you were born, you beautiful gift… I need you, need you, Logan, I want you!”

Logan moves one hand down to Lord Xavier’s crotch, where he is hot and hard behind the fabric of the breeches. He grins, turns them against the wall with ease and bluntly rubs his Lord through his clothes. 

“How much do you want me?”

Charles just huffs, rubs himself against Logan’s hand harder, his eyes flutter shut and the kissed-red mouth hangs open, but then he recollects himself, seems to think on it and grabs Logan at his neck and hair to move him down to his knees. Logan goes eagerly, relishes in the hand that rakes through his hair as Charles fumbles with the buttons of his breeches, not willing to let go of him but also desperate to free himself of the confines. This close the smell of his sex overrides everything else and usually Logan all to gladly would have taken him into his mouth, taken and tasted his Lord over and over again until his hunger was appeased, but today…

“No, Charles, not like this.” 

He didn’t wait six weeks for this alone, he didn’t finally get the drive and anger he has desired for too long to simply suck it away. As much as he enjoys a sore throat and his Lord’s reciprocation that rivals any whore’s, Logan pulls his head away, retreats under Charles’ surprised eyes, pushes down his breeches over heated flesh and flops back on his haunches in the hay. He spreads his legs, spits in his hand and makes the invitation as clear as it can get. Charles’ eyes grow dark at his display and without tearing them from the mussed up, wetted spot between Logan’s thighs, he undresses as quickly as he can. When he kneels down in the hay with him, Logan raises his hips and clutches his bent knees to his chest. 

“Like this.”

“Yes, yesssss, better like this.”

“No talking.”

“I’m not the one who can’t shut up.”

Charles spits in his hand too but before Logan can protest and remind him that he doesn’t have to prepare him, that the pain is part of this and that he can’t do any lasting damage anyway, a thick little thumb pushes into him. It plunges in and out, rough and only with the most perfunctorily care and it’s exactly doing what it is supposed to do. Charles watches his finger enter Logan, stretching him and pulling out again, the muscle not immediately closing again. There’s a smile on his lips that guests to the house would perceive as sweet but that really isn’t and Logan’s cock twitches against his belly and it twitches twice as hard when Charles looks him in the face, left eyebrow raised, not quite a question but still. Logan nods, sends him an affirmative non-verbally as loud as he can and in the blink of an eye, the finger is removed and Charles is above him; he positions himself and shoves in in one quick harsh push. 

Logan’s nerves are on fire. It prickles, it genuinely hurts, but it is a pain so different to the ones he’s used to. It’s one he doesn’t have to fight, it’s one that leads to pleasure, always, and one that he wants the other person to give him. 

Charles has stilled over him, his eyes are closed and he breathes through his nose, long and deep. His brows are furrowed, he bites his lower lip and he looks incredibly young like this. Deceivingly inexperienced and innocent as his hips start to jerk in small little motions from side to side loosening Logan before he pushes down further with a deeply satisfied sigh falling from his lips. He opens his eyes to look at Logan who is transfixed by what he sees before him. The blue of Charles’ eyes has turned in to a fine ring around his large pupils, there is something wild and feral in them and his hands to Logan’s sides burrow into the hay as is if to hold on to something. Logan doesn’t want him to hold on to or to hold back. He embraces the stretch, pushes back against the pressure and opens his whole body when Charles starts to move. 

Charles is thick, hot and big. When he pushes in completely it’s beyond Logan’s point of comfort but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the fullness, the stretch that has turned into a hot burn that feels as if it’s reaching up to his lips and chest as well. It’s good, so good, but not enough. The thrusts are greedy but they’re still careful, Charles is holding back. Logan wants his Lord to let go. Wants to see the beauty of him disassembling and becoming what they all are: Animals, driven by simple desires and pleasures. He grabs for Charles’ head and his luscious hair, pulls it through his fingers and drinks in his moans that are followed by a sharp look and a deep hard thrust into Logan’s body – up where it hurts – and Logan joins in on the moans, unable and unwilling to keep them in. This is something he learned here, in this position – on his back naked and spread open – that his throat can make sounds like these and that he loves them, loves whoever gets them out of him.

He wants to cross his legs behind Charles’ back, to lock him in and keep him here where he feels so good, but he can’t: his muscles don’t respond as Charles’ gift blocks him. He retreats completely, slips out harsh and quickly and Logan grunts his protest but Charles only grins and says:

“Turn around.” 

Logan doesn’t have to be told twice, he rolls on his knees and forearms and spreads his thighs wide in the hay. He arches his back, flexes his muscles and presents himself like a barn cat in heat. 

_A rather large and wild cat that would make_

There’s spit flying against his hole, he wants to say that he doesn’t need it but it’s not meant to make things easier for him. The image he receives of what it looks like, the white spittle dripping into and from his wide hole – the way it catches in his hair and what it does to his Lord – lets the saliva pool under Logan’s tongue and makes his cock leak. 

The next shove in is smoothened but as quicker are the following thrusts for it. It’s hot friction, unrestrained and so primal in the position they’re in; Logan’s arms tremble against the scratchy floor and it’s not because of the weight or force of their coupling. The air around them smells of sex and sweat as their bodies become one. As soon as Logan finds his stance against the floor again, they’re moving in one hard and fast rhythm that’s punctuated by the groans that are wrung out of him and Lord Xavier’s sharp pants. 

Two strong hands dig into Logan’s backside, holding him tight when he pushes himself back, and while the hard hot shaft inside of him works as powerfully as it did before, it’s more controlled now, slower and aimed to give him pleasure. 

For a second he wants to fight it, wants to give pleasure instead of taking it but then the shallower thrusts rub and hit him just right and he howls in the crook of his arm. He can hear the grin in Charles’ breaths and it echoes as throbs in his cock. He follows the hand pushing between his shoulder blades, lowering him even further, chest to the hay, shoulders spread wide and moans beside himself as a small paw grabs his hair tightly. 

The pressure inside him builds, up his thighs and down his belly, pooling at this point below his spine. It’s too good, almost too much, the floor moves between his weak, scratched and healing knees and shoulders; he can’t tell time anymore, there’s only the feeling of Charles’ hot cock pounding into him and making him shake over and over. Every time he brushes by this bundle of nerves inside of him, every time he pushes inside of Logan to take his pleasure and ease his strain. There’s a high, excited rush of power and he can’t tell who it belongs to anymore. On the high’s heels, triggered by a sharp and deep, perfectly aimed thrust, the pressure bursts and rips through him. From his spine into his tightening balls and through his aching cock. He doesn’t need to touch himself, his body spasm, convulses around this perfect cock inside of him that’s doing all of this to him. He gasps for air and comes noisily; cum splatters white on his chest and the floor. 

Charles’ hips don’t slow, they fuck him through the fire and glow, but the movements are desperate now, needy and quick to get himself off in Logan’s body. He takes it all, lays his thrumming body down on his front to let Charles rut in him. He thinks of the beautiful body on top, the pale buttocks clenching and unclenching to roll into him over and over again. It’s what finally undoes Charles, the groan low in his throat as he slings his arms under Logan’s shoulders and moves in as far as he can before he stills, moans and comes, sending deep, powerful shivers through Logan’s spent body. 

He’s out of it, blissful, doesn’t really feel how they disentangle. There’s a short l moment when Charles looks at him, checks – there is nothing to fear – and he gets a sweet soft kiss to his butt cheeks each. 

Logan barks a laugh, rolls on his back and stretches his arms to take Charles into them, in all his red-faced and glowing-with-delight glory.  
There are some Thank Yous and a You Are The Best Thing That Has Ever Happened To Me mumbled as he crawls up to plop on Logan’s wide chest  
Logan smiles and nuzzles the top of the head as it gets comfortable on him.

“There is nothing to thank me for. If anything I should be grateful. That was… intense and very much needed.”

Charles laughs and rubs his faint stubble against Logan’s sweaty and heated skin. It’s wonderful. He wasn’t used to this, cuddling. Or the praise and the fingers trailing his chest, circling his hair and nipple before playfully flicking it. Or the soft, sloppy, slightly apologetic kisses to his chin and jaw that fill him with a lassitude he never thought he would know. He never expected any of this from his male lovers.  
For a quick second he thinks of Master Lehnsherr and if this is something he wanted. But the thought disperses as quickly as it came and pulls Charles’ warm, relaxed and exhaustion-heavy body closer to himself as they doze off in the soft hay of Westchester’s stables.


End file.
